I avert my gaze back to the flower vines twisted around the light pole. Green and white and yellow and the palest purple I’ve ever seen. I want to touch each bloom and feel the softness, press my nose into the petals. When I was a kid running through the woods behind my parents house, I used to pluck honeysuckle blossoms from the bushes, tear the stem and lick at the nectar. Pure sticky sweetness, petals in my hair. Mud on my knees and hands and everywhere in between.
It would be convenient to stay on the farm. I know Beckett’s house at the edge of the property is bigger than Stella’s. I saw it once while I was exploring during my last trip. The large stone chimney, the wraparound front porch. It’s a gorgeous house. Stella said his place had been the lodging quarters for whatever hunting retreat Lovelight used to be. I could stay in one of his spare rooms tonight and see what the phone tree turns up tomorrow.
With his schedule, we probably wouldn’t even see each other.
I look back to Beckett, my gaze snagging on the jut of his collarbone, barely visible through the opening of his shirt. I remember sinking my teeth into exactly that spot, tracing my thumb over the marks I left behind.
I drag my eyes back to his.
“You sure it’s alright?”
A beat of silence pulses between us. He doesn’t look away. “I am. You?”
I think about it for a second, and then slowly nod my head. It feels like a bad idea, but I’m fresh out of options.
The wind whistles through the old picket fence that lines the gardens by the road. A lock of hair falls over his forehead and he smoothes it back with his palm. I glance at the box in his hand.
“Are you going to share the cookies?”
He turns on his heel and heads towards his truck. “Absolutely not.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BECKETT
I have lost my damn mind.
There’s no other explanation for it.
I didn’t see her when I first stepped out of the back entrance of the cafe, a box of cookies tucked under my arm and my mind still back in my parent’s driveway. My dad hasn’t brought up his accident in close to ten years. Certainly not what happened after. I was so caught up in trying to untangle that particular knot, I didn’t notice her until I was stepping off the curb, heading back to my truck down the street.
It was her hair first, the wind lifting it and swinging it over her shoulder. Jet black and curling at the ends, brushing against smooth brown skin. The sharp cut of her cheekbones and the soft swell of her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stared a hole in the side of the unfamiliar car.
Seeing her standing there in a coat that was far too thin, a second shy of shivering right out of her boots, it felt like grabbing an exposed wire. I did that once, when I was replacing the bulbs that wind their way through the fields at the farm. It zipped right up my arm, a sharp and brilliant surge.
It took me a second to catch my breath.
“You are an absolute fucking idiot, Beckett Porter.” I shove another cookie in my mouth with a huff and watch the headlights behind me rise and fall as we turn into the farm. The butter and sugar is doing absolutely nothing for me. I glance out the passenger side window as I rumble past Stella’s cottage on the edge of the pumpkin patch, relieved when I see her windows are dark. The last thing I need is Stella and Luka with a pair of binoculars, riling up the phone tree.
Pretend this is the first time we’re meeting. What a dumb fucking thing to say. Like I can forget the way she looked tangled in the sheets. A smile that tasted like lime and salt.
My foot edges on the gas and I grunt. Stupid. I have no idea why I invited Evelyn—the same woman who left me without a word in a hotel room—to stay indefinitely. My house is big, sure, but not that big.
I turn down the winding dirt road that leads to my cabin, the way marked by flickering solar lanterns. I installed them last month when Luka got lost trying to cut across the fields from my place to Stella’s after one too many beers. Stella called a half an hour after he left, asking where he went. I found him wandering in the southeast fields by the carrots.
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine, watching as three little furry heads appear in the window one after the other. I can’t help smiling despite the tension twisting my neck. It’s nice to have something to come home to, even if they tear my furniture to shit.
Evelyn is busy wrestling an oversized duffle from the backseat of her car as I climb out of the truck. “You need help?”
She shakes her head and grabs a rolling suitcase as well. I try not to read too much into it. If she wants to have a little ambiguity about what she’s doing here and for how long, that’s fine. I feel like I have at least one person in my life withholding information at any given time. What’s another?
Three cats jostle for my attention as soon as I open the door and I scoop them in my arms, letting them crawl up my jacket to settle across my shoulders. They’re still tiny, not growing much since we found them curled up in the corner of the barn. Comet, Cupid, Vixen. It was a little on the nose when I named them, but it felt appropriate for a family of cats that live on a Christmas tree farm. I glance around the open living room and spot Prancer stretched out in front of the fireplace, her head resting on the stone. She opens one eye and lazily bats her paw in the air, as enthusiastic a hello as I ever get from her. Good to see she found her way back after this morning’s joyride on the tractor.
The door shuts behind me, and I watch Evelyn place her bags by the door, stepping hesitantly into the space. All four cats stop what they’re doing and stare at her like she’s just tossed a handful of their kibble up in the air like confetti.
She blinks, her dark eyes wide.
“This is,” she looks around the room. A smile loosens every bit of her body when Prancer decides she’s not a threat, does a full body stretch, and promptly falls right back to sleep. She looks at me. “This is not what I expected.”
Feeling sheepish, I glance around the space and try to see what’s unexpected about it. It’s fairly simple in terms of furniture and decor. Big, oversized second hand couches, worn and well-loved, a couple of blankets thrown over the back. The kittens went through a clawing phase and I’d rather not have stuffing spilling over me every time I sit down. A dark red rug beneath to keep the floors warm in the winter. Shelves on either side of the fireplace, haphazardly stacked with books. A giant canvas between—a field of wildflowers painted by Nova, red and yellow and pale, pale pink.
My coffee mug from this morning is still sitting on the edge of the table and I grab it on my way into the kitchen, sliding the leftovers from dinner into the fridge.
“You want something to eat?”
I barely catch her soft no in response, her feet carrying her over to one of the big windows that looks out over the fields. In the morning, sunlight fills this whole space until it’s fit to burst, the hills rolling out behind the house in a patchwork quilt of green and gold. Right now, darkness cloaks everything beyond the wooden porch. Instead of rows and rows of sturdy green trees, I only see Evelyn’s reflection. Fingertips at her lips and high cheekbones. Big brown eyes. I stare a second too long, something scratching at my throat.